Strangers on a Train
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: A love story is always interesting, no? GSR.


Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: So...just where was Sara this week? Here's what I think:) Thank you so much for reading, and thank you for all your incredibly kind comments from last week.

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Strangers on a Train

by Kristen Elizabeth

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"_Pardon, moi?_"

He wasn't entirely sure if the words were directed at him, but Grissom glanced up from his book just in case.

The woman standing in the aisle of the train could have easily been a high-fashion model. She had long dark hair, olive skin and whiskey colored eyes. Her clothes were straight from the window displays of Paris's most famous houses of couture and the smile she gave him was nothing short of perfect.

She continued in French, but even after living in the country for almost a year, his grasp on the language was embarrassingly meager. Sara was so much better at it.

"I believe this is my seat." the woman repeated in heavily accented English.

He blinked. "Um, yes." Gesturing to the empty seat next to him, he added, "Of course."

After stowing her larger bag above their heads, she gracefully dropped into the seat, surrounding him with the scent of some expensive French perfume. She reached into her handbag and withdrew a paperback novel, but instead of reading, she glanced at Grissom.

"You are not from Paris?"

Ten years ago, he might have blushed and stumbled over his answer. But the Gil Grissom who was taking this six hour bullet train to the French Riviera in order to meet his wife to celebrate their one year anniversary simply shook his head. "America."

Her eyes lit up. "From what part of America?"

"California." Grissom changed his mind, "Nevada." When the woman looked puzzled, he clarified, "Las Vegas."

"Oh, I love _Les Vegas!_" she exclaimed. "I have never been, but I wish to go!" When Grissom just smiled and returned his attention to his book, the woman offered him her immaculately manicured hand. "My name is Brigette."

Already he could tell it was going to be a very long trip. He took her hand with a brief smile. "Gil."

The best she could do was a very French, "_Giles_." Happy now that they were introduced, Brigette tucked a long curl behind her ear. "You are traveling to France on holiday?"

"No, I live in Paris."

"Ah." Brigette paused. "I am going to Nice for a model job."

So he'd been right about her occupation. It was nice to know he hadn't completely lost his touch.

"Is your wife in Paris?" she went on.

He frowned at her rather forward question before he realized that his left hand and the gold band that adorned it was on full display. "Right now, she's probably somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean."

"_Pardon?_"

"She's meeting me in Nice," Grissom explained. "It's our wedding anniversary."

Brigette seemed torn between delight and confusion. "But...why are you in Paris and she is in America?"

Grissom blew out a breath. "Why, indeed."

Just then, an announcement came over the intercom in flowing French, followed a moment later by English, welcoming the passengers on board and reminding them that the Riviera was six hours away. When the message began to repeat in German, Brigette glanced at Grissom again.

"What is her name? Your wife?"

The corners of his lips turned up, like they always did when he said her name. "Sara."

"You have a picture?"

It took him a moment to retrieve his wallet and withdraw the small photo he carried wherever he went. He had taken the picture himself on the morning after he'd found her in the middle of the Costa Rican jungle. Sara's hair was a mess of tangled curls turned molten gold by the rising sun and the serene look on her face spoke of true happiness.

It had matched the look on his own face.

"_Belle_," Brigette murmured. "A model, no?"

"No." Grissom reverently replaced the photo in his wallet. "She's a scientist."

Brigette watched him with curious eyes. "You miss her."

"Every day." He cleared his throat and readjusted his grip on his book, hoping she'd take the hint. "If you'll excuse me..."

He was allowed a full twenty minutes with John W. Dower's _Cultures of War_ before Brigette spoke again.

"For you and your Sara...was it...how you say...love at first sight?"

Grissom shifted in his seat. "I don't really..."

Brigette put her hand on his arm. "Forgive me, _Giles_. I talk very much."

It was true, but he merely replied, "I'm just afraid I'm not very interesting."

"But you have a love story, yes?" Her eyes twinkled. "A love story is always interesting."

Outside the window, the fields of France zipped by in a blur of greens and browns. Grissom stared at the passing countryside for a minute until he'd made up his mind.

"We met...when she was very young," he started.

"And you were not so young?" Brigette guessed. He conceded with a slight nod of his chin. "But it did not matter to her."

"It should have." He half-smiled. "But no. It didn't."

Brigette crossed one leg over the other. "To a woman in love, very little matters."

Grissom took his time continuing, choosing his words with great care. "For a long time, I made her think I didn't care about her." Brigette waited for him to go on. "I thought she would find someone else. Someone better."

Her forehead crinkled. "You wanted that?"

"It was very complicated."

"But now you are married." Brigette lowered her voice, conspiratorially. "She saw through you, _Giles_."

"She never gave up on me," he agreed. "Not even when I deserved it."

The French woman tilted her head to one side, silky curls spilling over her shoulder. "Why, then, when you have such a love for one another, do you live in different places?"

"Because." This one word obviously wasn't enough for Brigette—-she kept staring at him expectantly. "Because," Grissom tried again, "We have the kind of love story where we don't have to be together all the time."

It was the most he had ever said to anyone about his relationship with Sara and it had left him exhausted. Although Brigette looked as if she was dying to ask more questions, Grissom opened his book and resumed reading.

Five and half hours later, they arrived in Nice. If the flight plan Sara had emailed him had been accurate, he had an hour to get to the airport before her plane arrived. Sixty minutes until he would see her face smiling at him. 3,600 seconds until he could gather her up in his arms.

Brigette thanked him for their talk in the French way by kissing both of his cheeks as they waited to disembark the train. She stepped onto the platform just ahead of him and was greeted by the blinding lights of fifty paparazzi cameras. Grissom turned his eyes away from the glare as he moved past Brigette.

He was so blinded by the flashbulbs that he walked right by his wife.

"Hey, Gilbert."

Grissom stopped and turned. A few feet behind him, Sara stood with one hand on the handle of her suitcase, one propped up on her hip. Traveling thousands of miles had left dark circles under eyes, but as far as he was concerned, she outshone Brigette.

"I thought I was picking you up," he said when he'd found his voice.

She gave him a smirk so saucy that every nerve in his entire body jumped to attention. "I took an earlier flight. Surprise."

Ten seconds later, Sara was in his arms. She tasted like Juicy Fruit gum and she felt like heaven.

"I've missed you so much," she whispered between kisses. "So much, Gil."

Grissom just buried his face in the still-fragrant curls at the nape of her neck. They might not have needed to see each other every day, but now that he had her for a whole week, he wasn't about to let her go anytime soon.

Neither of them noticed the supermodel smiling at them as she and her photographers passed by.

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Fin


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